


one thousand eight hundred and twenty-six days

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: After being freed from carbonite and assuming her newest mantle of Commander of the Alliance, Jedi Battlemaster Amaara realizes just what five years can change, and just what time can never heal.





	

One thousand eight hundred and twenty-six days. 

There was no way to imagine that length of time and not have it seem like a terribly long time to be gone from the world. And even if she had spent the time in carbonite, unaware of the world outside of the hellish space she had shared with Valkorion, her bones seemed to bear the weight of the years, seeming to shake themselves loose of dust as she moved. 

Just over five years. Whenever she thought about it, she could feel the very tenuous hold she had on her courage grow even weaker. How much had changed in the years she'd been gone? How many of her friends even still lived, with war raging through the galaxy? Where were Kira, and Rusk, and Teeseven?

Where was her husband?

In the first few weeks after she was freed from carbonite, it was impossible to get any reliable commlink established. Even with HK-55 keeping the worst of the swamp creatures at bay, there was simply too much to be done before the Gravestone could leave Zakuul.

And then, of course, came the attack, with Zakuulan knights and guards coming at them from all sides, and their retreat from the swamps and eventual arrival on Asylum offered little time or opportunity for communication. The wounds Amaara sustained from her confrontation with Arcann certainly didn't speed things up at all. 

It was almost four months after she'd taken her first breath outside of carbonite that she managed to send out a -- decidedly stilted and awkward -- message to the man she'd promised to spend the rest of her life with. And it was an agonizing _three days_ (not so terrible considering she'd made him wait _five years_ ) before she checked her messages and saw a familiar subject line: 

**Hello, gorgeous.**

Such a simple little thing had her in tears, and Amaara was grateful that she had decided to check her messages in the safety of her room, with no prying eyes to see her shaken to her core. For a few minutes, she simply couldn't read Doc’s message; the tears came hard and hot and she couldn't blink or wipe them away. And so she let them come, hugging her datapad to her chest and pretending it was her husband’s face pressed soft against her breasts.

Finally, when she felt more in control of herself, Amaara read Doc’s message. 

It was shorter than she'd been expecting, and rather... lifeless. 

_It's been five years_ , the rational part of her mind cautioned her, and relief swept through her. _Give him time. This won't be easy for either of you. Be patient._

But after more than a handful of awkward conversations that went nowhere, patience was no longer a virtue she possessed. Before she'd been trapped, Amaara could remember how effortless their conversations had been, how sometimes they had laid together without speaking for hours, with Doc tracing the patterns on her body aimlessly with his fingertips, and not an inch of space between them. And even when they _had_ been apart, it had never felt like _this_. 

It had never felt like something vital was slowly and painfully dying. 

“It's good to see you, baby,” Doc said, when he answered his holocom. And, despite their lackluster messages, he _did_ sound happy to see her, or at least relieved. Amaara could almost feel his love for her coming through, and it made her feel silly for ever believing anything had changed. This was the man who had kissed her so hard her knees went weak and promised her with his breath hot on her lips that he would love her forever. This was the man who had fought beside her and stood with her through the worst storms and trials of her life. 

What was five years, really? 

Besides one thousand eight hundred and twenty-six days. 

And endless space and darkness. 

And loneliness and grief that must have sank like sharp, angry teeth into him. 

“I love you,” Amaara said, desperately, because _kriff it_ , she _was_ desperate. It felt like the only thing she could say that might make some kind of difference in the growing shadow between them, but it sounded so small and so slight and so _weak_. 

“I love you, too,” Doc said, and he _did_ , Amaara knew he did. With even more desperation, she thought of the way he'd laughed when she'd kissed his throat, and the way he smelled when she nuzzled close to him; sweet and strong and _hers_ \-- but the scent was faded now, like old flowers pressed between the pages of a book. 

He loved her, he _did_. He'd promised to love her forever. 

But she'd promised never to leave him. 

It was another three calls before Doc told her the truth. After two years of being gone, she'd been declared killed in action. He spoke about her “funeral,” about the pitying looks he'd gotten from people who had barely known her, about the stiff and formal condolences he'd received from what remained of the Jedi Order. 

“You gave your whole life to them,” he snapped. “And that's all they had to fucking say. You _died_ for them... everyone thought then that you had, and---” He trailed off, and Amaara couldn't see him well enough to tell for sure, but she thought she could hear him crying. “That was that. You were gone and everyone just kind of... drifted. But I couldn't... I didn't want to give up---” 

“Doc,” Amaara said, using the voice that had always calmed him whenever he'd gotten too worked up. This time, though, there seemed to be too much inside that he needed to get out, and he spoke over her. 

“Sometimes I'd just lay in bed and think that I heard you,” he said, and the shivers that sent through her went straight to her heart. “I felt like I could almost touch you and then-- No one ever tells you the worst part of losing someone is forgetting they're gone. I used to wake up and reach for you, and I didn't _want_ to give up---” 

_“Archiban_ ,” Amaara said, this time with more emphasis, and Doc, mercifully, stopped, taking a few deep breaths and scrubbing at his eyes. “Breathe, dearheart,” Amaara soothed. “It's alright now. I'm here.”  
“But I did,” Doc said, and Amaara felt the first real twinge of an ache in her heart. “I did give up.” 

He disconnected, leaving her in silence to wonder on just what he meant. 

But of course she knew. 

Something was dying there between them, and it wasn't dying easy. 

After another few calls, she understood. After she'd been declared dead, their marriage had -- at least to the Republic -- been null and void. After a year of waking up smelling her perfume and hearing her voice echoing in the hallway, Doc had met someone. His name was Kielo, and he was a Twi’lek working as a doctor on Balmorra, where Doc had returned after too many sleepless nights at the home they'd shared together. When he spoke about him, Amaara could hear guilt and shame in his voice, but beneath that, there was helpless, infectious joy, that made her smile even as her heart twisted. 

What was five years? 

Besides one thousand eight hundred and twenty-six days. 

And the time it took to mourn and grieve and heal and let go. 

Doc had been given the luxury of five years, as painful as it had been for him. 

Amaara had lost everything in an instant. In the blink of an eye she had no home, no husband, no friends to stand beside her. 

She had nothing but the gleeful jeering of the monster in her head, and the slow, constant ache in the center of her chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Doc said, and it was honestly the last thing she expected from him; the last thing she _wanted_. What she _wanted_ was to have the last five years of her life back. What she _wanted_ was to be his wife, to havehis children, to live together quietly. But what she wanted didn’t matter. The world had kept turning without her, and everything and everyone had changed. 

He’d let go of her a long time ago. 

“Are you happy?” Amaara asked. 

Doc considered her question carefully, which was unlike him. She wondered if this Kielo was teaching him patience, and she couldn’t help but smile. Goddess knew he needed the lesson. 

“I am,” he said, and, before their call was ended, he smiled at her, and the way it touched his eyes made her heart hurt all over again. “I’m happy you’re safe, gorgeous,” he said. “I missed you like crazy.” 

When she was alone, in the cold, dark quiet of her room, Amaara found herself too numb to even cry. She toyed with her wedding band absently, thinking of the way Doc had kissed her when he’d slipped it on her finger, the way he’d scooped her up into his arms and the heady rush she had felt at knowing she had the rest of her life to love him and to be loved by him. 

What was five years, really? 

Besides enough time to let go. 

And enough time to be forgotten. 

**Author's Note:**

> A N G S T W A R N I N G 
> 
> I had this idea in my head for a while, ever since I started KOTFE, and I wanted to show the fallout of being gone for five years; if Bioware really expects me to believe that our friends and LI never find out where we are for five years, then... 
> 
> write your complaints to them. >.>


End file.
